The Valiant Lady
Hippolyta, I
woo'd thee with my sword,
And won thy love, doing thee
injuries;
But I will wed thee in another key,
With pomp, with
triumph and with revelling.
No man likes to be dependent upon a woman, especially not a virago like the captain of La Sirène, and James was no exception. But dependent he was, at least until Anamaria returned him to Port Royal. His misadventure with the Spanish had stripped him of uniform, sword, and pistol, and reduced him to this inversion of the natural order, to relying upon a woman (a woman pirate) for rescue.
It was a piece of luck that La Sirène had happened to capture the Spanish ship, but as the days wore on, James began to wish that Anamaria had left him in chains. A day in her company had convinced him that the rumors about her and Jack Sparrow were nothing but idle tongue wagging, for surely Sparrow would never submit to be ruled by such a shrew, and surely Anamaria would surrender to no man. James' dislike of her was only compounded by familiarity; she was arrogant, abrasive, and altogether infuriating.
James wasn't fool enough to thank God for a hurricane, but at least the storm took his mind off his situation. There was too much to be done to worry about who was giving the orders, and by the time the raging seas had calmed and they'd limped into a sheltered cove to repair the ship, he had a newfound respect for Anamaria's temerity.
The storm had given no quarter, and Anamaria had ridden it out with a bravery James had seen from few men. Even when she'd slipped and cracked her head open, she'd returned to her place at the helm, laughing defiantly through the blood and water streaming down her face. Not Kate the shrew then, but Hippolyta, wild-eyed and fierce, and in that moment, James had wished for a sword with which to woo her.